


Youth

by Sol_Invictus



Series: Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sol_Invictus/pseuds/Sol_Invictus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the <a href="http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/>bbcmusketeerskink</a>%20<a%20href=">prompt</a>: <i>"(from a tumblr post) Tréville being a little shit when he was younger. Tréville’s old commander finding out somebody put him in charge and going Well there’s your problem right there THE LUNATIC IS RUNNING THE ASYLUM. Tréville can keep up with the Inseparables because he did all that shit twenty years ago, he knows all of the tricks. Tréville being as much trouble as the four of them put together. Riding into formation at the last possible second on the bishop’s horse with the bishop still on it. After seducing said bishop and shooting some Spanish soldiers. The Inseparables being karmatic retribution for all the shit Tréville pulled in his youth. Tréville going look it was only three buildings and two of them were set on fire as a strategic military decision and the bar wasn’t even my fault. (bonus points if the bishop in question is a young Richelieu [he was a bishop at twenty-one historically, I'm sure it could happen])"</i></p>
<p>Despite what it looks like, Richelieu and Tréville share a long friendship...and affair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Encounter

Armand Jean du Plessis, bishop of Luçon and new favourite of Marie of Medicis, was riding home after a quiet day spent studying at the royal library and was planning to spend an equally quiet night.

His plans were ruined by a young man jumping on his horse. Before the bishop knew what was happening, the stranger was leading his horse through the streets of Paris at full speed.

“Fear not, my lady, I am a musketeer.” Whispered the man in Armand’s ear.

“My lady?!”

The bishop turned to the musketeer with indignation. He looked no older than du Plessis with his eyes flickering with mischief and his arrogant smirk.

“Oh, I am really sorry, father!” said the man seemingly not sorry at all.

“I will make you pay for this!”

“I hope so.” Then the young man winked playfully.

Masked men shouting in Spanish suddenly came out of the surrounding streets, pointing guns. The next ten minutes became a confusing carnival of loud noises and blinding flashes of light for Armand. When the bishop came to his senses again, the Spanish men were nowhere to be found. He turned again to the mysterious musketeer, not knowing if he should be angry or afraid.

“Sorry for that.” The bishop went for angry.

“You’re not.”

The stranger shrugged, which infuriated Armand even more.

“I am going to rip your damn head off.” He hissed with fury.

“As long it’s only my head!” the other chuckled.

The bishop thought he was going to strangle the infuriating man when they finally stopped. Du Plessis recognised the garrison of the King’s musketeers and gave an incredulous look to the musketeer.

“You must be kidding me.”

“Now, that’s really mean of you, father.”

“Don’t you dare pout.”

A loud snarl interrupted their conversation and the heavy doors of the garrison flew open. The captain of the King’s musketeers looked at them with a growl, obviously very furious.

“Jean-Armand du Peyrer, count of Treville, you will get your sorry ass in my office this very moment before I crush your damn head.”

The young man jumped down with nonchalance.  He looked back at Armand with a wicked smile.

“Can I buy you dinner tomorrow night?”

“Not even in your wildest dreams.”

Treville chuckled and followed his captain through the courtyard as the doors closed on the young bishop.

*

“How on Earth did you find me?” snarled Armand Jean du Plessis, bishop of Luçon.

“There aren’t many pretty bishops in Paris, you know.”

“Get out of my way before I decide to throw you in jail.”

Treville chuckled, his eyes flickering with mischief. Absent-mindedly, Armand noted that the musketeer was rather handsome.

“I know a great place not far from here.”

“Have you actually listened to me last night?”

The bishop was getting exasperated. He had a rough day at the ministry with the queen’s powerful favourite. He had dealt with enough morons and incompetent men today, he didn’t need another one.

“See this dinner as an apology on my behalf.”

“You don’t look very sorry to me.”

“The dinner’s on me. C’mon, you’re not a saint! You’re not going to say no to free food, are you?”

As much as Armand hated to admit it, Treville was right. His purse was too light to refuse a free meal.

“…that food better worth it or you’ll spend the night in jail. And get that stupid smile off your face.”

“Not a chance!” replied the musketeer, his triumphant smile widening even more.


	2. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richelieu accepts to help Treville rescue one of his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A key of comprehension: the "League" mentionned by Richelieu and Tréville is the Catholic League, who sought the complete eradication of Protestantism in France during the French Wars of Religion and was lead by the powerful Guise family. At the time of this fic, the League doesn't exist anymore _per se_ , but the spirit of it (and many members) still influences greatly the political life of the kingdom.

Lost in his prayers, Armand didn’t notice the man kneeling silently next to him immediately.

“In conversation with God?”

The bishop jumped at the familiar voice. Not him _again._

“You had your dinner, I had my apology. Now get out of this church and of my life!” hissed the young man at the musketeer.

“I need your help.”

“You don’t need _anything_ from me.”

“It’s matter of life and death!”

“You most probably deserved it.” And Armand stood up, ready to leave.

“My friend is going to die!”

The bishop froze, surprised the musketeer rose his voice. Treville stood up slowly, his voice more quiet and gentle.

“They set him up.”

“Who?”

For the first time, du Plessis saw another thing than mischief in the young man’s eyes. Something he didn’t think such a young and carefree man had in him.

“The League.”

“You mean…?”

“ _The_ League.”

Armand let himself fall on the bench. He had a very bad feeling about this.

“You have to help me, _please._ ”

“Already begging?” chuckled the bishop.

“I’m serious!” roared Treville.

His outburst silenced du Plessis. Staring into the fire burning in the musketeer’s eyes, mischief and playfulness gone, he felt himself shiver.

“Fine. I’ll help you.”

To see Treville’s eyes light up gave Armand another completely different shiver.

*

“Remind me again why I accepted to help you.” hissed Armand Jean du Plessis, bishop of Luçon and current favourite of Marie of Medicis.

“Because I’m irresistible?” answered smugly Jean-Armand du Peyrer, count of Treville and musketeer of the King.

The young bishop smacked angrily the head in front of him.

“I will rip your damn head off.”

“As long it’s only my head!” the young musketeer chuckled.

Another smack on his head followed, which only amused him more. They were in a dark, narrow alley with the moon as only torch. The old house in front of them was plunged in darkness and silence. Only the faraway cries of feral cats troubled this quiet neighbourhood of Paris.

“Are you _sure_ it’s here?” whispered Armand to the soldier. “We got the address from a _drunkard!_ ”

Treville was about to answer when the windows of the house lit up one by one. Moving shadows could be seen, going here and there. The young musketeer gave a smug smile to the bishop. Said bishop fought bitterly his need to smack again this infuriating young man.

“Let’s go!”

“Hey, hang on! We need a plan!”

“What for?” shrugged the soldier and got another smack on the head.

“We enter the house _quietly_ , rescue your friend, get out of the house. We must be discreet. Understood?”

*

“I SAID DISCREET! _DISCREET!_ DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS?” yelled Armand as he threw any object he could find on Tréville.

“Setting the house on fire was a strategic military decision! It’s not my fault if the church and the bar burned too!”

“I WILL RIP YOUR DAMN HEAD OFF!”

“As long it’s only my head!” and a Bible carefully aimed to his head knocked the soldier out.


	3. The Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bond between Richelieu and Treville is gaining strength.

Reloading his pistols, Treville gave a quick glance through the small window. At least a dozen of men were firing on the old fortified tower the musketeer and the bishop had fled in.

“I can’t believe you slept with the duchess!” growled Armand. “And you had to drag me down with you in this mess!”

“I didn’t know d’Épernon was so touchy!”

“I swear to God, Armand, if I survive this I will rip your damn head off!”

Treville froze before turning slowly to du Plessis, a wide smile on his face.

“Did you just-“

A bullet passing by interrupted the young soldier and he focused back instantly on the ongoing battle. Treville knew they were playing a losing game; they were outnumbered with only two pistols available. They had to get out of here soon. And the soldier knew just how.

“I think I have a plan!”

“You _think?_ ” snapped back the bishop. “I don’t want to die here because of your stupidity!”

“Don’t worry, I have a great plan.”

*

“ _Don’t worry,_ you said, _I have a great plan!_ ” mumbled angrily Armand, wet from head to toes.

“At least we’re alive.” Shrugged Treville, equally wet.

The two young men had jumped from the tower into the river next to it. After half an hour of swimming they had gotten back on land, in a forest. They were now walking with no idea of their exact location.

“Hey, back there, in the tower, did you… Did you call me by my name?”

The bishop stayed silent, staring at his feet. They marched like this for a few minutes and Treville feared he had upset du Plessis. Yet the young man eventually spoke, still refusing to look at the musketeer:

“Do people…not call you Armand?”

“Well, most people call me Jean but Armand is fine too, I guess.” Treville answered with caution, afraid he might anger the bishop once again.

“Armand, then.” Nodded the other. “Well, I suppose you can call me by my name too.”

“Armand.”

Oddly, the musketeer felt butterflies in his belly when he said the name. He repeated it once again, smile widely.

“Get that stupid smile off your face.”

“Not a chance, _Armand!_ ” answered Treville with an even wider smile.

*

Pacing the floor of the dark and wet cell, Armand Jean du Plessis, bishop of Luçon, was trying to contain his growing anger and exasperation at the prisoner of said cell.

“I will rip your damn head off.”

“In my defence-“

“ _First,_ you sleep with his wife, and now you duel with his son! What on Earth are you thinking? Do you have a death wish or are you just plain stupid?”

“I-“

“And don’t even _dream_ of expecting me to get you out of this mess! You’re going to be a _musketeer,_ for God’s sake! Start acting like one!”

“I-“

“I almost _died_ because of your stupidity! Really I don’t know how you’re still-“

“ _ARMAND!_ ”

The bishop fell silent, taken aback. He was so caught up in his tirade that he didn’t notice Treville had stood up. The seriousness on his face mesmerized Armand. Had he ever seen the young musketeer so serious?

“Armand”, repeated the soldier more gently. “Why are you here?”

“What?”

“Why are you here? How did you even manage to know I was here?”

The bishop didn’t know what to answer. Hell, he didn’t even know _himself_ why he was here. The man had only been trouble so far, and yet Armand had kept himself informed of his moves. He had much more urgent matters to attend to, so why was he here, in this cell, being exasperated at Treville?

“We’re not friends, why do you care so much of what could happen to me?” went on the musketeer.

Yes, why was Armand caring so much about this troublemaker? They weren’t friends, they hardly knew each other. So why? Why all this? No matter how many times the bishop thought about it, he had no answer to his questions. Or maybe he didn’t _want_ to answer his own questions…

“Armand?”

“I… Well, I suppose it would be very ungrateful of me to let you rot here when you more or less saved my life.”

“ _More or less?_ ”

“Anyway, I will try to get you out of jail _but_ I don’t promise anything!”

“…thank you.”

“Please get that stupid smile off your face before I change my mind.”

“Not. A. Chance.” Chuckled Treville.

The bishop let out an exasperated sigh before leaving the musketeer alone with a strange warmth in his belly.


	4. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treville and Richelieu's friendship takes a new turn.

Armand Jean du Plessis was crossing the gates of the Louvres when an all too familiar musketeer came to him, a wide smile on his face.

“ _No._ ” said the bishop before Treville had a chance to say anything.

“I didn’t say anything yet! You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you!”

“Yes, I actually do. You’re going to ask me to follow you in one of your foolish plan to do God knows what while you risk my damn life!”

“…I was going to ask you out on a dinner.”

Armand narrowed his eyes, not really convinced. You never knew what to expect with this firecracker.

“Sorry, but I’m busy. I have a lot of matters of State to attend to.”

“Come on, dinner’s on me!”

The bishop let out an exasperated sigh. He was exhausted after an entire day spent trying to convince this fool of Concino to take wise decisions. Besides, he had still a lot of letters to write and a pile of work to do for tomorrow.  He just had no time to grant to this damn musketeer.

“… _fine._ But the food better worth it!”

Treville’s infuriating smile widened.

*

“I didn’t need to be escorted, you know.” Said Armand with an annoyed look.

“A bishop as pretty as you? Alone _in Paris?_ ” chuckled the musketeer with a wink.

The bishop rolled his eyes and opened the door of his small apartment. He turned to the young man who was still there, as if he was expecting something.

“What?”

Treville chew his lip, looking… _hesitant._ It was so odd to see this usually confident and playful musketeer at loss for words. Armand couldn’t tell why, but it stirred something alien in him.

“I…I noticed how you look at me, Armand.”

The bishop raised an eyebrow:

“Oh? I’m glad you noticed my looks full of exasperation-“

“ _Desire._ ”

Du Plessis froze. So the musketeer knew. The situation was getting out of hand. He had to brush it off, to deny everything…

Armand didn’t know who actually initiated the kiss, but the moment he realised he was kissing Treville, he pushed him away with all his strength. Out of breath and flushed, the two men looked at each other like two wolves ready to fight.

_This man is dangerous_ , thought the bishop. _He’s out of control. The power he has on me… He will be my demise. I have to stop everything right now._

This time, it was most definitely Armand who initiated the kiss.


	5. The Forgotten Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treville is starting to grow up in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, I got a lack of inspiration and time.

In the light of the rising sun, Armand Jean du Plessis, bishop of Luçon, was seated at his desk, a candle next to him and open books surrounding him. A cry was suddenly uttered from Armand’s bedroom and a minute later a naked young man was emerging from the room.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?!” shouted Treville with an alarmed voice, frantically searching for his clothes.

“I’m your lover, not your chambermaid.”

The young man only grunted in response, putting on his clothes as quickly as he could.

“Where’s my boot?”

“Behind the door”, indicated the bishop without stopping his work. “No, the _bedroom_ door, you idiot!”

Finally ready, Treville planted a kiss on Armand’s cheek and stormed out of the apartment. Still concentrated on his paperwork, the young bishop let out a heavy sigh and whispered:

“He forgot his sword.”

As if the musketeer had heard him, he stormed in, red and out of breath, and practically ran to the bedroom.

“I forgot my sword!” and with no more ceremony, Treville was gone again.

*

“I…I forgot my sword.” Said the young musketeer with a guilty tone, looking intensely at his hands like a little boy caught stealing biscuits.

“You forgot your sword.” Repeated Armand with an affable voice. “You forgot your fucking sword under the fucking bed of the fucking daughter of the fucking Duc de Guise.”

Treville gulped, feeling very well the devastating storm ready to unleash. The bishop was only waiting for his answer before exploding.

“Err, in my defence-“

“Don’t you dare “in my defence” me, Armand. Don’t you _fucking_ dare.” Whispered with fury his lover. “This scandal will cost you _at the very best_ your place in the King’s musketeers. I say at the very best, but seeing how de Guise will most likely react to his daughter’s loss of virginity, you’ll be lucky to spend the rest of your life in prison.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” laughed the bishop incredulously. “You’re _sorry?_ Do you know what our friendship could cost me? Do you have the _slightest_ idea of what your foolishness could destroy?”

Treville felt his stomach lurched when he met Armand’s eyes. He had never seen such fury in his lover before. The thought that he might have put the bishop in grave danger suddenly dawned on him and the musketeer felt sick. The fact that his actions could touch any of his friends never crossed his mind once.

“I am so selfish.” He spoke aloud with distress and sorrow.

It startled du Plessis. He opened and closed his mouths several times, as if the musketeer’s words had interrupted his tirade. His fury seemed to melt away when he met the soldier’s gaze.

“I am so selfish.” Whispered the young man again, his voice trembling and tears filling his eyes. “What have I done, Armand? _What have I done?”_

Looking lost, du Plessis patted awkwardly his arm. Silence fell between them. They were in the bishop’s apartment, sitting on his bed. Somewhere in the darkness of the capital, a bell was ringing twelve times. For what seemed an eternity, the two of them sat there, silent. At last, Treville spoke again:

“I’m going to get my sword back.”

Jumping as if he got an electric shock, Armand let out a loud “What?!”. The musketeer stared at him with determination.

“There’s still a chance that no one has noticed my sword under her bed. I left only a few hours ago, everyone is probably still sleeping.”

“And how do you plan to get us inside the house, genius?” shot sarcastically back the bishop.

“You’re not going.”

Du Plessis froze.

“…what?”

“You’re not going.” Repeated the musketeer firmly. “You still have a chance to be spared by the scandal if I fail.”

Armand felt a stab in his stomach. Usually he would have been happy to see his lover taking sensible decisions, but oddly the words felt wrong in Treville’s mouth. The bishop was supposed to be the sensible one, the one always getting worried, always cleaning up the mess. His lover wasn’t supposed to share his burden.

“Be careful, Armand.” Was all du Plessis could say.

“I will.” The seriousness in Treville’s voice made his heart drop.

*

Beaming in his brand new uniform, Treville was sporting his infuriating smile. Putting on his ecclesiastical clothes, Armand was eying him with annoyance, exasperation and a tiny bit of surprise.

“I still can’t believe you actually succeeded.”

Taking a scandalized look properly hilarious to the bishop, the musketeer replied:

“I don’t see why it looks so amazing to you, Armand. I can assure you everything went perfectly fine.”

“That’s why I still can’t believe it. Usually you set fire to at least three buildings.”

The soldier huffed, a bit vexed.  His lover chuckled, putting on his hat. His clothes were shabby, his current budget not allowing such great folly as new clothes. Armand was a bit embarrassed to show up at the wedding dressed like that when Treville had gotten a new uniform for the occasion.

“Where’s your cross?”

“I don’t have one”, sighed the bishop.

He had pawned his cross shortly after his arrival in Paris and his family couldn’t afford to buy him one. He didn’t mind much since he didn’t have to dress like a bishop to work for the kingdom of France. But at the wedding of a de Guise, it could destroy his reputation.

“Are you really _that_ poor?” laughed Treville.

A murderous glare indicated him that yes, du Plessis was indeed that poor. The soldier chew his lip, then sighed and finally took a golden cross out of his leather bag. He handed it out to Armand, a hesitating smile on his face.

“It was my mother’s.” explained the musketeer to a puzzled and surprised bishop. “Not really fancy, but it should do for now. I don’t really need it anyway, you can keep it until you can buy yourself a decent cross. Just… take care of it, will you?”

With a softness in his eyes Treville had only seen in their most intimate moments, Armand gently wrapped his finger around the golden cross and whispered a bit shakily:

“I will.”

*

The wedding of Marie de Guise, daughter of the powerful Duc de Guise and, according to rumours, former lover of a musketeer, was stunning. But it wasn’t the beautiful decoration of the church that was shaking the very core of Armand’s soul. It had more to do with the warm smiles Treville gave him during the whole day, and the feeling of his lover’s modest golden cross around his neck.


	6. Retrouvailles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again, years later.  
> (The title can be roughly translated by "meeting again".)

His coach now ready to depart, Armand turned to Treville standing at his doorstep. His eyes, usually full of mischief and playfulness, were watering. With a weak smile, the bishop tried to lighten up his lover:

“Exile isn’t lethal.”

“I could speak to the king.”

“Which would only get you exiled too.”

Treville let out a heavy sigh and pulled his lover into a crushing embrace.

“I will come back. I promise.” Whispered the bishop.

He freed himself and turned to get in the coach. He suddenly stopped and turned again to Treville, a hand to his crucifix.

“Keep it. It will be more useful to you than to me.” Said the musketeer with a hoarse voice, his eyes filled with tears.

“I will come back.” Repeated Armand, himself on the verge of tears. “I will come back.”

*

“I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure to meet my private secretary.” Said Marie de Medici with her usual condescending tone to Treville. “Meet Cardinal Armand-Jean du Plessis de Richelieu.”

 _Purple suited him better_ was the first thought of the musketeer when he gazed upon the man in red. A sharp sadness pierced his heart when he recognized the familiar face of Armand, but not his eyes. They used to be filled with warm and exasperated affection. They were now so cold, so piercing.

 _My Armand is gone,_ thought with sorrow the man as he bowed to the cardinal.

The golden crucifix hanging around the man’s neck caught Treville’s attention. His heart skipped a beat when he realised that it was _his_ crucifix, his mother’s… The musketeer felt his head beginning to spin as he met again Richelieu’s gaze.

“Cardinal, meet Jean Armand du Peyrer, count of Treville and captain of the King’s musketeers.”

Time seemed to freeze for the soldier, staring at the man in red with a renewed hope, his hands shaking from anticipation. After what seemed an eternity, the cold gaze of Armand-Jean du Plessis, Cardinal of Richelieu, grew warm and the face of the man melted to reveal a bishop smiling with tenderness and familiar exasperation, an eyebrow arched.

“You must be _kidding_ me.”

Letting out a breath Treville didn’t know he was holding, the soldier answered with a grin no one had seen him with for years, biting back a hysterical laugh:

“Now, that’s really _mean_ of you, father.” 


End file.
